


Six Inches And A Mile

by HerHighnessThePrincess



Category: Lego Ninjago
Genre: Gen, THIS IS A HEALTHY WHOLESOME BROTHERLY RELATIONSHIP, THIS IS NOT SLASH YOU NASTIES, also i apologize for my writing style for this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-15 03:48:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29802474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HerHighnessThePrincess/pseuds/HerHighnessThePrincess
Summary: They are six inches apart, maybe. Less than a foot. They are side by side, doing the dishes together, breathing together, living together.
Relationships: Lloyd Garmadon & Kai
Comments: 9
Kudos: 25





	Six Inches And A Mile

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sodaschemes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sodaschemes/gifts).



> Aka just me rambling about the inevitable emotional stuff that must have happened between Kai and Lloyd after s4. Because like… c’mon. They had to talk about that. Brief warning, this is done in a WILDLY different style than I normally do, I don’t blame you if you have trouble understanding it. It’s honestly more like incredibly vague poetry than an actual story. 
> 
> Also happy birthday Kat :D Sorry this is so late lmao. I’m sorry this is so short as well, but trust me when I say I put a lot of hours and revision into it. Better to make it short and actually good rather than overly long and bad, right?
> 
> Also if any of you make the title into a dirty joke I am legally allowed to kill you.
> 
> TW: grieving, parental death (vaguely referred to).

They are six inches apart, maybe. Less than a foot. They are side by side, doing the dishes together, breathing together, living together. 

They are not present together. They are actively avoiding that. 

Only: a charged six inches of space.

There is a silence in the room that they know very well. It seeps into the walls that have worn down paint, the floor with burn marks, the kitchen counter with unspoken words and the dirty, dirty dishes. The back door with claw marks gouged deep into the wood.

The knife shines bright as it is washed down by a towel gripped in a scarred hand.

Watch them. Listen. Observe.

It is hard to breathe.

They use the same stale air in every shaky breath, in words aborted and neutered on the tongue. Inhale-exhale, inhale-exhale, inhale-exhale, in a room with the same four walls and the kitchen counter and the dirty dishes and the same two people who know they must speak but they do not speak, they do not.

They slip into a comfortable rhythm of misery. Little brother and older brother, with miles between them. 

There is history between them. They know this. There are claw marks on the back door. Deep claw marks. They do not speak of this back door. They do not acknowledge it. The walls shrink in around them.

Fight or flight.

_ Mi hermano pequeñito. _

The absence of touch. Of hugs. Of comfort. The meaning of the absence of touch.

Of the need for comfort.

The silence smothers. 

The others avoid them.

It smells of mildew and  _ rot _ .

They sit-stand-breathe-live-donotexist-together, side-by-side, the dirty dishes between them that they do not touch, on a different plane, tears that they do not allow to collect on their eyelashes that do not stream down their cheeks. Miles and miles away from each other they reach out but do not grasp, do not speak, do not scream.

They think of nothing, nothing. Nothing. Nothing at all. 

_ Think _ , their bodies scream.  _ Think of your mistakes and your emotions, the things you need to say, because this silence is destroying you, and destroying the other one as well. Do not be a coward just because you are afraid. _

One seventeen, one  fourteen ten, one with rage and fire burning at the insides of his throat and smoke coming out whenever he tries to speak, and therefore he does not try to speak, one who keeps his emotions stifled because if he allows himself to feel he will start screaming and never stop. And neither wants to bother the other.

Silence is better than screaming and smoke, and so they do not speak.

They love each other. But one feels like he does not deserve the other and the other is afraid to love. Afraid his brother will turn out like his father. His mother.

No thoughts in your head, no thoughts. Slide them out of your mind’s eye. Do not observe them, because the more they are seen the more tempting they become.

The periphery is not an easy place to balance but they can manage, they think.

Your thinking occurs offstage, ready to appear to bedazzle the crowd.

Observe them as the silence gives way.

A shuddering gasp  grasp pierces the veil. And the older one turns to see tears shrieking on the face of the younger.

He tries to hug his little brother. But his little brother flinches, jumps hundreds of miles away, and so he refrains.

Your body carries out your wants your will. Your little brother flinches back from your touch. Therefore, your body is bad and wrong. Put your wants and your wills inside, inside you somewhere you cannot hurt him. 

From miles and miles (inches) away, the other boy sees it differently. Your brother does not want to touch, hug, comfort you. Therefore you are bad and wrong. He doesn’t want you, nobody wants you.

Ah, but pain spares no one. And grief is never kind, especially the first time.

But the older brother, he tries. He tries. He tries again. And again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and aga

Slide your thoughts out of focus. They are a distraction. A hindrance. You want to tell your little brother you love him still, despite your actions. 

And so you do.

The silence shatters.

They hug. They apologize. They cry.

_ Idiot _ , the little brother says.  _ I still love you _ .

_ How could I not? _

They hug in the room with four walls and the back door blown wide open, with clean dishes, and they try again.

**Author's Note:**

> This took way longer than you might expect, considering the word count. I’m very sorry to anyone disappointed with this, but I personally like it quite a bit.
> 
> Also in case you need the translation for the Spanish, it just means “my little brother”.


End file.
